


Oasis

by sansos



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Coffee, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Humor, M/M, One Shot, Reader-Insert, Workplace
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-03
Updated: 2020-09-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:26:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26263381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sansos/pseuds/sansos
Summary: A late night spent slaving away at work followed by a late start to your morning led to you missing the chance to enjoy your morning coffee. Thankfully, Akaashi’s there to watch your back.Akaashi x gn!reader
Relationships: Akaashi Keiji & Reader, Akaashi Keiji/Reader
Kudos: 59





	Oasis

You looked out the tinted windows from your cubicle on the office floor, focusing neither on the reflection of the sun against the office windows across the street nor the passersby in tank tops and shorts walking just underneath. No, you instead were focused on the droplets of condensation clinging onto the glass, because despite the scorching heat of the dog days of summer, you had found that your fingertips were ice cold with an occasional chill ghosting over your shoulders.

You could hear your coworker Nakamura from the cubicle space adjacent yours telling Matsuda, who sat directly across, about how the fatty tuna was on sale at the grocery market next to the station. Something about how _it_ was 500 yen. Did she mean that each fish was 500 yen? The whole thing? If she did, then that would be _very_ cheap indeed. Oh, toothpaste was on sale too. Perhaps you should book your next dentist appointment soon. Ah, but to get to the dentist you’d have to take the train. Your Suica card was low on funds, perhaps you should reload it today after work.

Hang on. Train station?

_Now why were you thinking about a train station again?_

You frowned as you struggled to retrace the steps in your mind. What was the thought that had preceded the one about your Suica card again? It was on the tip of your tongue, so closely tangible that it felt as if you could grab it in your own two hands. And yet, your mind couldn’t help but blur out of focus, dissolving into the loud rumble of the fan and the ruckus of the bullpen.

You took a deep breath.

It didn’t matter —you’d get back to figuring out what it was again later. It’ll come back to your head in a bit. _For now, you should get back to work_.

For all the determination you had mustered up, it was rather ironic how you had found yourself staring blankly at the computer monitor with knit eyebrows just minutes after you typed in your password. You had a screen open —a new email from your coworker, you assumed. You squinted at the screen. _Saiga_ , the sender indicated, and you remembered that she was supposed to send over her part of the marketing budget today.

Perhaps it was the sleepless night and your hectic morning getting to you, or perhaps it was the adrenaline from _barely_ making it in time to the office for the daily morning briefing, but you _swore_ that the words on the screen were floating —or swimming, they were moving around fast— around entangled with one another. _Was this even a human language?_

You turned to your right as you searched amongst the heads neatly lined behind screen monitors against the wall, your eyes narrowing to stare intently at the back of Saiga’s neatly cropped hair when you spotted her.

Could it be?

Could she be an alien?

 _No, that’s silly_.

You turned back towards your own monitor and rubbed your eyes to take another look at the email. You recognized the words on the screen now, but what the words meant _together_ …

You sat there on your chair staring blankly at your screen. Perhaps an hour had passed, or maybe it was ten minutes. It didn’t matter, you had resorted to solving your comprehension predicament by resting your head against your table and groaning into your arms.

Your mind honestly felt like a block of cheese today.

Not only were you unable to _understand_ an email from a colleague, you were also almost late to the meeting today. _You_ , who was famously known to be always punctual and organized within the company. _You_ , who was always there to help lend a hand to set-up for the day.

You heaved a sigh. Nothing seemed to be working out in your favor at all since the moment you woke up. Not the trains, not the weather… Oh, and definitely _not_ your alarm clock. You made a mental note to throw the cursed thing into the trash when you got home. In a world where smartphones existed, what was even the point in keeping a _clock_? How foolish. Elementary. Childish.

You sighed again as you shielded your eyes from the fluorescent lights of the office with your hand. Did they change the lightbulbs? Was it always this bright? You winced in pain as stray rays of light found their way into your eyes, searing your retinal cells and serving as an unpleasant reminder of how you _really_ would rather be _anywhere_ but here in this moment.

Your hands found themselves clenched tightly into a fist as a burst of white light flashed through your head. Your frown deepened as your eyes squeezed tightly shut. You hunched over your desk, your abdomen clenched so tightly just to hold yourself up with your head dangling inches above your desk, having figured out that this bizarre position was the only position that didn’t tip you off the edge and fall into a world of pain.

And yet in spite of your best efforts, the pounding that had started from the earlier flash continued. Louder, stronger, faster. Your fists uncurled and your fingers now found themselves clutching either side of your head, gripping so tightly and with such force that you found yourself wondering for a brief second if the scalp could be bruised. It didn’t matter —the pain from your grip was nothing compared to the volley of sensations racking about and causing chaos in your head. If anything, it was a momentary escape —an oasis of sorts.

 _What an awful time for a migraine,_ you screamed within the confinements of your mind.

“Hey, (l/n)-san, you don’t look so good,” Nakamura piped in from your side, stretching back on her chair to glance over at you from her cubicle. “You popped a Tylenol yet?”

You shifted your grip onto your temple to steady your head —as if it would somehow help to dampen your pain— and waved your the other in your colleague’s direction. “No. Late night last night, woke up too late today.” You winced as another flash of pain manifested in your nerves from the slight movement in your head. “‘Sides, all I had time to grab this morning was my laptop,” you slurred on with a suppressed groan, gesturing blindly over to the area where your laptop sat on your desk.

You could hear Nakamura moving to unclasp the buckle on her bag and stick her hand in to rummage around. A click of the tongue followed by a dejected sigh came from where she sat, and she murmured a soft apology. “I’m sorry, just finished up my bottle.”

You drew in another breath, letting your chest expand and your diaphragm drop down to maximize your inspiratory volume. You held on in momentary suspended animation to let air filter through the very depths of your lungs before releasing the breath in a slow, controlled exhale. You got up from your spot, plastering on a forced smile and ignoring the flash of pain to thank your coworker for her efforts, and cautiously treaded over to the kitchen, your hand pressed against the white walls to balance your weight against.

Pain relievers were but a momentary cure —a bandaid slapped over a bleeding wound if you would. You knew exactly what it was that would save you from this affliction, and your hands shakily fumbled through the cupboards to find the glass jar containing the magical concoction that would solve all of your problems.

It was a gamble, that much you understood. You groaned in frustration as you crouched down to the drawers underneath the counter of the kitchenette, having turned up empty handed from your blind scavenge above. You tried to push the throbbing pain radiating out of the frontal lobe of your brain to, ironically, the back of your mind, as you sacrificed your own sanity in exchange for the possibility of finding the elixir you so desperately sought.

“I _swore_ Saiga-san bought some instant coffee just the other day,” you mumbled as you lightly closed the last drawer in the row shut.

“(l/n)-san?”

You slowly turned your head over to the entry way of the room, raising a small hand to wave at the young man by the door —he mustn’t have been any older than 22, you thought. You recognized him from his introduction during a morning briefing the other week —something about an internship? You winced slightly; it hurt to even think.

“Have you seen the coffee?” you blurted out in question.

The intern blinked back at you, and quickly shook his head. You sighed heavily in response as you got back up from the ground, standing back up to your original height. “Did you need me for something?”

“Oh, right, yes!” yelped the man as he quickly flipped through the sheets in his planner. “(l/n)-san, you have a guest waiting for you in the lobby,” he notified you, reading off of a sticky note in his palm. You grunted in acknowledgement as you trudged out of the kitchen through the entry way, the young man jumping out of your path as you headed for the elevators on your floor.

The thought of having to socialize and _talk_ to someone —probably a client at that, so it meant you had to be on your best behavior with a big grin on your face— served to worsen your headache. You lightly tapped on the button to call for the elevator as you rolled your shoulders back. _It could be worse_ , you thought. _At least I can escape from the awful air conditioning on this floor at the very least_.

You slid into the lift as the light atop the metal doors flickered to life to announce its arrival, and moved to then jam your thumb against the button for the ground floor, your index then reaching down to press on the button directly underneath to close the elevator doors as soon as the first button lit up. You took a step back, and rested your head against the wall of the elevator with your back flush against the cool metal as you stood waiting to arrive at your destination.

Your right hand fumbled with the cold metal on your left, twisting and turning it along the shaft of your finger as you tried to will away the relentless dull pain biting down hard at the edge of your mind. The intensity had dulled since earlier, though you wondered if it was because of habituation stepping in to lend you a hand; was it that the severity of the headache had only started to subside because you had been preoccupied with other stimuli?

The elevator _ding_ ed to announce your arrival at your destination, and the floor lurched up ever so slightly from the inertia carried forward by the prior motion. You gripped on tightly to the metal railings against the wall to steady yourself, cautiously stepping heel-to-toe out past the metal doors once you regained your balance.

You turned the corner out of the arrival lobby of the elevators to the waiting area in the building concourse, narrowing your eyes to avoid the bright light of the sun spilling in through the large glass panels of the entrance. Any other day you would have thrived off of the natural daylight, revelling in the joys of life it seemed to bring about, but today was different —today you were plagued by bouts of throbbing pulses in your head, and the blinding lights did little to help minimize your suffering.

“Hey, it’s (l/n) from operations,” you informed the receptionist at the concierge, your hand placed onto the dark granite of the counter surface to support your weight. “I was told I had a visitor?”

“Ah, yes, (l/n)-san. He’s over there by the windows,” the receptionist replied with a polite smile, nodding in the direction of the person in question. “The person with the brown leather bag who’s holding a drink.”

You glanced over in the direction directed by the receptionist and nodded, your eyes glazed over as you struggled to make out the faint outline of the individual. You couldn’t tell what color the bag was —from your angle, you couldn’t really tell that he even _had_ a bag— but you could see the faint outline of what resembled a coffee cup in his hands.

You whispered a word of thanks, lightly knocking twice against the counter top as you slinked over to the window to approach your guest.

“Hello, I’m sorry to have kept you waiting,” you greeted him with a polite smile, your eyes disappearing behind the wide beam you had plastered on. Truthfully, you had no idea who he was still —the sun made it practically impossible for you to get a good look at his face— but you could figure it out later from his voice and the context of your conversation.

You heard the sound of footsteps —crisp, loud, purposeful, and probably dress shoes— as the man turned around to look over at you. Dark shadows drawn up from the dark waves of his hair were cast onto his face, masking his features and maintaining the secret behind his identity. You conceived and allowed for the mystery to live on —you’d figure it out eventually.

Yet there was something just so _familiar_ about the way he stood and his presence in general that screamed at you that you _should_ know who this person was. You winced again as the throbbing intensified.

_Okay, too much thinking._

“Don’t worry about it, (f/n),” he laughed. You looked up, confused by how the stranger had called you by name. Were you that close? Close enough to be on a first-name basis?

And then it all clicked into place.

“What are you doing here?” You tugged on the cuffs of his grey tweed coat to pull him in to the shade. He chuckled, the steel blue of his eyes disappearing behind the crinkle of his smile as his cheekbones pushed against the black rims resting atop his nose.

“Just thought you might be needing this.” He pulled on the strap resting against his shoulder and draped the leather bag against yours. “You just brought your laptop today, but I figured you might need some more things in there later on in the day.”

You grumbled a quiet “thanks” as you unclasped the buckle on the bag and dug through the contents, shoving aside your house keys and your spare pens in search for the white container you always kept tucked away.

“I took the liberty to get you a new bottle of Tylenol as well,” Akaashi pointed out as your hand landed on the smooth surface of the bottle. You looked up again, and whispered another word of thanks —this time your voice sincere and heartfelt.

“But maybe hold off for now, I have something better,” he continued on as he took your hand in his and placed it over the cup he was holding onto.

You looked down at the object in your hand with a frown. It was warm, and if your eyes were not playing tricks on you, steam was slowly wafting up from the hole in the lid, carrying with it the crisp scent of freshly roasted coffee beans.

 _Coffee_?

“I… You… Huh?”

Akaashi let a light chuckle, his lips pursed into a wide closed-mouth grin as he reached over for your free hand. “You left the house without your coffee this morning, (f/n)” he said, pulling gently to bring you into a one-armed hug. You reciprocated, hesitantly holding up your arm against the modern day Adonis’ back while balancing your coffee in the other, too dazed by what just transpired and the overwhelming scent of mint and eucalyptus that had since enveloped you to respond.

You liked mint and eucalyptus. Your body wash at home was mint and eucalyptus. It smelled clean —like clean laundry yet free of the artificial floral notes typical in laundry detergent. You lightly sniffed. The palpitations arising from the adrenaline coursing through your veins seemed to slow and relax, and you felt the tight grip of the migraine slowly start to lose strength in its hold. Mint and eucalyptus —it was relaxing, you decided. Just like the effect that Akaashi had on you.

Wait.

Did Akaashi just bring you _coffee_?

You stared at his mouth move as he recounted his journey from his workplace to your favorite coffee shop, and then his following trek to your workplace from there. You nodded your head absentmindedly from your spot with your head next to his chest as if you had followed along on his story. Truthfully, you had absolutely no idea what he was talking about —he was saying words, but your mind struggled to make coherent sense of it. What you _did_ know, however, was that from your angle, the way his glasses sat against his nose bridge and the way his dark hair fell against his forehead complimented his face perfectly.

_How was this guy even real?_

Your gaze drifted over to his eyes; they were an imperfect shade of blue, bordering on the cusp of blue and green. Was the name of the color teal? It reminded you of the calm sea before a storm —an eerie and undisturbed sense of tranquility that, nearly paradoxically, housed immense destructive strength as well.

Adonis didn’t even hold a candle to his beauty, you decided. The man in front of you —the man who, for the matter, had his arm around _you—_ was nothing less than a Greek god. If the legends were true and they gods did descend down from Olympus in mortal form, then Akaashi was, without a doubt, the god of the seas himself.

Akaashi paused, having realized that you had been silently staring at him as he talked, and laughed yet again. He let go of your waist briefly to guide your hand and bring your cup to your mouth, his eyes twinkling merrily as he watched you take a whiff of the drink and let out a content sigh by reflex.

“I ordered it 10 minutes ago, so it should be cool enough for you to drink now,” he grinned as you quickly nodded and tilted your head back to take a sip, relishing in the roasted, nutty notes of the caffeinated drink that coated your throat.

 _Oh right, Nakamura-san was telling Matsuda-san that the fatty tuna was on sale_ , you remembered as the memory resurfaced in your mind. Was it the placebo effect? You didn’t know, but for the first time since you first opened your eyes this morning, the whole world suddenly felt a little clearer, your thoughts a little more organized.

“Feel better now?” he asked. You nodded, and quietly thanked him, this time with a small smile in place of the frown you had on from before.

“How did you know I hadn’t had coffee yet?” you asked, snuggling back up against his chest as you took another sip from your coffee. You frowned, and turned your head to look up at Akaashi’s face. “Hey, you’ve been using my mint and eucalyptus body wash again!”

He tilted his head down to leave a peck atop your head and looked at you with an amused grin. “It’s _our_ body wash,” he corrected you with a laugh. “And (f/n), you always brew it in the morning. If I don’t wake up to the smell of freshly roasted coffee, I know that you’ll get a headache later in the day.”

You blushed at the remark. Correlation needn’t mean causation —not until experiments were done to establish the definitive link between independent and dependent variables by proving the impossibility of other possibilities. For him to have established the link and to have been able to predict the outcome with such certainty…

Your husband nudged at your left hand with his, hooking his fingers against yours to bring your hand up before twisting the wedding band on your ring finger with a goofy grin on his face.

“Just like how you always take care of me, I’ll be here to take care of you too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Akaashi saves the day! I had quite a bit of fun with the earlier part where the reader’s thoughts are all jumbled up (My brain works like that when I haven’t had coffee yet. Nothing makes sense at all). I get really bad headaches if I don’t drink coffee in the mornings, so please watch your caffeine intake carefully! Enjoy responsibly, alright?


End file.
